


the world is still the same, there's just less in it

by theprincesjester



Series: the world is still the same, there's just less in it [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: But today is not that day, If it goes on, Other Characters Are Mentioned, and as i do i'll update things accordingly, and there's a chance it'll get a bit angsty as it goes on because of the Thing i have planned, because i can't Plot right now, but!! i can promise No Death, i might also perhaps allow requests for things?, i plan on adding to this, i'll admit that in this first part there's not much. shippy-stuff, in which grantaire has synesthesia, it Does mention some enjolras/grantaire which i plan on making A Thing later, it might not be completely linear with certain parts, it's because i'm still in pain and these are my coping mechanisms, maybe one day i'll actually write something longer, so i've tagged it, this might end up being a bit more oneshot-ish, yes this is another one titled after a pirates quote
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21787420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprincesjester/pseuds/theprincesjester
Summary: "And still, all Grantaire could think about was how the world itself hadn’t changed, just the way he thought about it--the world was still the same, there was just less in it, and yet… his world was growing."
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Grantaire & Jean Prouvaire, Grantaire & Joly & Bossuet Laigle, Grantaire & Éponine Thénardier
Series: the world is still the same, there's just less in it [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570948
Kudos: 5





	the world is still the same, there's just less in it

When he’s thirteen years old, Grantaire feels the light go away. It’s a subtle thing, yet it’s undeniable; he still sees the colors, but the physical ones are dull. 

If you had asked him, he would have tried to laugh you off, trying to assure you with a wobbly smile that he was perfectly alright. 

When he’s thirteen and a half, he falls in love. Most wouldn’t want to call it love, most would say he was too young for that type of thing. 

But at thirteen, with hopes still high, he has determined that he wants to marry this red and gold boy, the boy who gives him exasperated sighs when he sees how Grantaire is taking care of himself and gives him small smiles when he sees Grantaire carrying his ukulele around the school, playing with another one of their friends--the green and yellow and purple and orange one, Grantaire thinks. Jehan was their name. 

He’s given each of their friends a color; or, rather, he sees a colour for each of them. He sees a colour for many things, he tried to explain, one day, but frustrated himself enough in the process that he gave up. 

“Well… see… Combeferre’s… he’s kind of like a blue? But a darker blue. With a hint of grey, and a bit of black and bronze,” 

“I… I don’t get it,” Enjolras had said, confusion clear on his face. Grantaire tried again. 

“And Joly. He’s… a lighter blue, and a brownish beige, and a hint of yellow and orange and white,” 

Enjolras nodded. “And you see these for everyone?” 

“Well… sort of. Yeah. I see them for people, and words, and… David Bowie’s voice is a metallic blue, with bright pinks and oranges and yellows,” 

Enjolras had taken his hand and smiled. “That’s cool,” 

Grantaire had blushed and ducked his head, trying to hide his face. “I guess,” 

Those colors hadn’t dulled. But when Grantaire looked at his walls, they seemed grayer, and when he looked at his art projects, it felt as if there was something less vibrant about them.

When he looked at Enjolras, all he could see was light, and the colors were as coruscating as they had ever been, surpassing anything he had ever seen before. It seemed as if this outspoken boy had taken the sun, taken all the light, and now held it inside of him. 

Or maybe Grantaire had lost the light and was now reaching for the sun, the one that hadn’t left abandoned him. 

Whatever it was, Grantaire was sure of one thing: if there were ever soulmates, if such a thing were to truly exist, Enjolras was surely his, in the sense of they were meant to have met. 

But then, he figures, by that right, they were all, as a whole, soulmates, a group of people predestined to find each other and, consequently, save each other in their own ways. 

By the time Grantaire is fourteen, he figures life, while shitty, could be significantly worse. He believes that men are driven by one thing; their own self interest. 

And yet… within his group of friends, he can’t help but doubt even that, seeing their good intentions and how they do, legitimately, want to do good. He can see how Joly really does want to help people, not because he gets anything in return but because it’s the right thing to do, and it makes him happy, and… 

Oh, God, Grantaire wishes he knew what that could feel like. 

He took up quite a few things to try to take up the time not already stolen by the schoolwork he was assigned, hoping against hope for once that maybe, just maybe, it would help, it would make something come back and it would give a purpose to everything once more. 

“R? Are you okay?” Enjolras asks him one day, sliding down the wall to sit next to where Grantaire is sitting with his head between his knees. 

“Hm? Yeah, I’m… great,” Grantaire hesitated as he answered. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. What makes you--” 

“You’ve been wearing the same shirt for almost a week, and you just…” 

“I just _what_?” 

Enjolras gives him this _look_. 

And _oh, God_ , Grantaire _really_ doesn’t want to be having this conversation, not right now and especially not with Enjolras, doesn’t want to talk about how fucked up his sleep schedule has been and how difficult it’s been to go through every day and how he just can’t. 

So he doesn’t. 

“I’m fine, E, really. We’ll all be fine,” Grantaire says with a forced, practiced smile, one that’s started to become convincing. He throws in a laugh, for good measure. Enjolras gives him an unsure, skeptical look, one that is typically seen with Grantaire but in this moment couldn’t be anywhere close. 

“Alright, but… if you need anything, you know we’re always here for you, alright?” 

Grantaire only shrugs before nodding. “I know, thank you,” 

And then Enjolras doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know what to say--there isn’t anything he _can_ say, and then he’s getting up to go to class, leaving Grantaire with a soft shoulder nudge and a smile. Joly takes his place, standing in front of Grantaire with his crutches. 

“C’mon, we have to go to math, Bossuet’s waiting for us,” 

And as Grantaire stands, all he can think is, “the world really is still the same, there’s just less in it.” 

There was less purpose, less meaning, less enjoyment. 

But at least, for now, Grantaire had people that were willing to at least act as his friends and pretend to care. 

He stood, going with Joly, giving Bossuet a wave and smiling a little upon seeing that he was carrying Joly’s books. 

“Want any help?” he half-teased, shifting his own load so he really could take a couple books, knowing their friends’ luck. 

\----------------------------------

It’s no secret that Jehan finds it difficult to talk to people. This is a fact Grantaire knows and understands well, even at the age of thirteen. 

Possible social anxiety, he thinks. He knows, because he’s spent time with Joly (and, on rare occasion, even Combeferre) trying to learn about these things, still unwilling to talk with an adult about half of his issues but working on getting there. Not too much longer, and perhaps they’d be able to successfully convince him to tell someone about the way he saw every day, the way he viewed life. 

But once you knew Jehan Prouvaire, they were green, purple, orange, yellow and a bit of pink. They were bright and full of life, bold upon meeting, a wonder among wonders, not unlike Enjolras. 

And they made what Grantaire called “the color thing” very happy. 

It starts as an accidental friendship--a friend of a friend of a friend type thing, and then suddenly Grantaire finds he actually enjoys the other’s company, inviting them to sit with him, Eponine, Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta in the writing and math classes they were all in. 

Together, they all sat together at lunch. 

And still, all Grantaire could think about was how the world itself hadn’t changed, just the way he thought about it--the world was still the same, there was just less in it, and yet… his world was growing. 

Every day that passed, he seemed to have a certain… air about him. He tried to avoid letting it cloud all he did, and yet there were days it was difficult. 

But at least he still had that group that was there, the people that wouldn’t leave, didn’t leave even when he tried to isolate himself. 

Grantaire was only thirteen, and he was beginning to feel useless, like he had no purpose, but he kept going. He threw himself into more and more things, taking up various things to try to keep his mind occupied and trying to enjoy the colors he did see every time his friends spoke, every time he heard their names.


End file.
